


Out on a Limb

by HisBeloved



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Lollipops, Love Confessions, M/M, Seductive Sherlock, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 18:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21002480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisBeloved/pseuds/HisBeloved
Summary: I was inspired to write this little snippet because ofthis drawingby onmylittleobsessions (on tumblr) in which Sherlock sucks provocatively on a red lolly.





	Out on a Limb

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, I'm migrainous and my tenses might be a bit weird (I wrote this sleep deprived with an ever-present migraine) Also, if my British-isms aren't correct, let me know and I'll fix them. And I didn't look up the exact timeline of A Study in Pink, so if that's off, it's just gonna stay off. 
> 
> All hail Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of the greatest detective and Northumberland Fusilier of all time.

John was called into A&E on the day of Rosie's 15 month exam because of some understaffing crisis, so Sherlock, being a Good Godfather, told John he would make sure Rosie made it to the Paediatrician's office, reassuring John as he bustled out the door to the clinic, but not before giving Rosie a kiss on her head and telling her to be a brave soldier for Sherlock. 

Rosie was due a few jabs, but Sherlock knew Rosie (almost as well as he knew John) and he triumphantly Gets Her Through the jabs with only a few moments of screaming, but quite a bit of sniffling and betrayed grizzling. Rosie's nurse thinks he's so charming (mumbling about 'dear, sweet Da's' and 'such a lovely little family Rosie has') that after she gives Rosie a sticker with some banal cartoon character on it (which Rosie promptly puts into her mouth) she hands Sherlock a lollipop with a cheeky wink. 

Back at 221b, after John had come home from a short shift and after Rosie had been dosed with paracetamol, fed, and placed in her cot for a nap (the jabs had made her grizzly and tired), Sherlock remembered that he had a cherry lolly in his pocket and absentmindedly begins sucking on it while reading a book on forensic anthropology.

John notices, he's just glanced up from the evening paper, scowling over another article about Boris Johnson, and he's SPELLBOUND. He can't keep his eyes off of Sherlock's lips and tongue and the way he Licks that red lolly and then HIS tongue is peeking out and he's absentmindedly licking his lips. 

And this is the moment that Sherlock realizes what is going on with John, what he's clearly thinking and imagining. He'd glanced up, pondering a, quite frankly, ridiculous assertion about the cribriform plate, and when he'd done so, the first thing he saw was John's tongue glancing his lower lip just so. Which is equally spellbinding. 

Something had shifted over the last few months between Sherlock and John. To all outside observers they had appeared to fall into their old routine, (with the addition of a beautiful baby). When they were alone, however, quick glances had turned to small, fond smiles, which had turned to glancing brushes of fingers and longing looks at Sherlock's, well, his Everything, but John seemed to be especially fond of his lips. John would glance at them and then, like a Pavlovian response, would bite his lower lip. Or the tip of his tongue would peek out. Or his mouth would fall open. And then just as quickly, John would school his features and they would both ignore what had just happened, maintaining the fragile status quo, frightened of what awaited on the fringe of it. 

They were stuck in a holding pattern, circling each other. It had become nearly unbearable. 

In that moment, staring at the pink tip of John's wandering tongue, Sherlock knows that he has to make a quick, calculated decision. This could be the moment that breaks the holding pattern. He wants it to be that moment. He DESPERATELY wants it to be that moment. 

He observes:

John's pupils: dilated.

Respiratory rate: elevated. 

Pulse bounding in his carotid. 

Cheeks: slightly flushed. 

Slight bead of sweat on the upper brow. 

Newspaper crumpled, fists tight.

Shoulders: tensed.

He, of course, knows all of the seduction techniques,  
but this is John, and he knows what Sherlock is capable of, that Sherlock can manipulate as easily as he can breathe. Sherlock's got to make him know, somehow, that this isn't a manipulation; it's an invitation that John can either accept or deny. He's got to be subtle and yet intentional. He can't push John too hard, or he runs the risk of John fleeing. So he smirks just slightly, a smirk only ever meant for John. He locks eyes with John, his cheeks suck in and, with the slightest, almost inaudible moan, he sucks that round lolly all the way in, holds it there, and keeps sucking. He's aware he has a slight blush as well (all of the sudden his cheeks are burning - which was totally unplanned yet could work remarkably well in his favor). He continues to lock eyes with John despite the overwhelming urge to look away, to clear his throat like he's made a miscalculation, to jump up and flee to the safety of his bedroom. 

John's nostrils flare and for the quickest of moments, his mouth falls open and his face is totally unguarded. It's full of years of want and lust and, with a very uncharacteristic crack in his voice, he whispers, "Jesus Christ, Sherlock."

John appears to be having a difficult time covering up his feelings this time. He looks flustered and then, very abruptly, lays the newspaper down so that it's covering his lower torso and lap and jerkily intertwines his fingers directly over his crotch. 

Oh. 

John's got his 'everything's fine' face on, but he's skittery and looks trapped. He finally manages to rasp out, "What are you doing?" His voice has dropped, husky and yet careful. 

Sherlock assesses him again. Yes, John appears trapped, but it's different than the times before. He's not running away. He's not defending himself in any way. Other than the newspaper, his usual walls haven't been erected. 

And the newspaper - well, John had to have known that Sherlock would know exactly what was happening under there. Not a calculated move on John's part, but not one he was denying, either.

John is sitting there, eyes boring into Sherlock's, lips a tight line. Like he's nervous. Or challenging Sherlock to say or do something. Or - yes! - John is resolute. He's made a decision and he's seeing it through. A soldier going into possibly hostile territory. 

John is frightened. He's starting to tremble, holding his breath. 

"I'm going out on a limb, John," he answers, surprised by the rasp in his voice. "One of us had to. "

"But you don't - it's all transport!" John almost shouts, gesturing wildly at Sherlock's body. 

"I simply haven't - yet. No need - and when I've thought I might want - well, it's unrequited, isn't it?"

John is staring again, and Sherlock watches the many emotions play across his face. He's always been able to read John like a book but it's all happening too rapidly and he's trying to commit it all to memory and he can't predict the next words out of John's mouth. 

John leaves his mouth open fractionally as he looks at Sherlocks knees, seemingly searching for the right thing to say, and then he finally settles on a very quiet, "It's not. Unrequited. It's never been unrequited." John's gathered a bit of confidence, so he looks at Sherlock and says, "You said you were married to your work. "

"And you said you weren't gay. "

"You met Sholto. You had to have known. You always know. "

"Thus, me coming to the conclusion that it was unrequited. That was your wedding reception, was it not?"

"You were dead, Sherlock!" John sighed heavily, closed his eyes and took a breath in through his nose. "I know we've been here before, we've had this conversation, but I watched you die, Sherlock, I had your blood on my hands - it was warm and - and then I buried you and drank myself into a stupor and forgot why I was supposed to try to keep living." Another pause. "When I met Mary, you were dead and I was alone and she helped me forget - and then you came back and showed up at that restaurant and then you HELPED TO PLAN THE BLOODY WEDDING! Why would you do that, Sherlock, why! If this really, " John gestures between the two of them and ends with, "Why, Sherlock?"

"I love you, John. I wanted you to finally be happy."

John is staring at him again, mouth hanging open -again, face going through too many emotions (again). This goes on for a bit longer than Sherlock had anticipated (he'd calculated 3.6 seconds, tops, but they're well past the ten second mark when John finally speaks again).

John clears his throat and chokes out, "What was that you said again?" He looks almost stricken, and surely that wasn't supposed to be the outcome of a few provocative sucks on a lolly. 

He's quiet when he answers. "I said that I wanted you to be happy. "

"No, before you said that bit. What you said before that. "

What he'd said before that?

Oh. 

"What did you say, Sherlock?" 

He could See John again, could Read him, and John wanted it. He was vibrating with it, someone on the cusp of something he'd wanted with everything but wouldn't believe he had until he was holding it in his hands. 

He looked him in the eyes. He didn't use any of his Calculated Looks or Patented Vocal Techniques. He simply answered, "I said that I love you."

John can tell he means it, that this is no experiment or script that Sherlock has come up with. Sherlock can read it in his face. Still, John asks, "And you mean it? You're not fucking with me?"

"I mean it. I've loved you since you shot Jeff Hope. You saved me John. I love you. I'll always love you."

Suddenly John is kneeling between his feet, looking at him with such raw emotion that Sherlock has to suck in a harsh breath. He's suddenly dizzy; this is not his area of expertise. And John is cupping his jaw as if he's fragile and looking at him as if he's beautiful and Sherlock feels himself retreating because he Doesn't Know how to navigate this. 

But John sees it, of course he does. John's voice is gentle and he says, "Hey, don't leave me, Sherlock. Stay right here with me." And when Sherlock refocuses, John says, "I have something to tell you and I need you here with me. "

"What?" he asks, still fully prepared to fall into himself, to flee. 

"You've used your lolly as a bookmark. The great Sherlock Holmes, deleting the appropriate uses of lollies. "

John is smiling and it's beautiful. John is beautiful; he's the sun and the earth and all that Sherlock has ever wanted, will ever want. And Sherlock realizes he's smiling. 

And then John says, "And I love you, Sherlock. I killed a man for you the first day that I met you. Even then the thought of not having you in my life was unbearable. I'd been so lost and then there you were, the most mad, brilliant, beautiful creature I'd ever seen. How could I ever go back to life without you in it?"

And then there's lips, soft, hesitant, and a tongue, (which was softer than it should have been for such a strong, large muscle), and it's hot and dizzy and a high pitched whine comes out of his belly and John is grasping at his hair and neck and face and it's almost too much and then it's over. And he feels John's exhalation on his cheek when he doesn't immediately open his eyes. 

When he opens his eyes he sees a different John. He looks lighter. His smile is luminescent. John is standing up (no! More kisses!) and leaning into his ear and he says, "You taste like cherry. Seems appropriate."

"John!" Sherlock can't help to groan at the innuendo. 

John' is still smiling, but it's gone from luminescent to slightly wicked, and he's giving Sherlock his 'tell me I'm wrong' face, and Sherlock simply smiles. 

And then he has a lap full of John Watson, and he's being snogged within an inch of his life, and he now completely understands why all of those women made so much of a fuss over John. He wants to kiss John for the rest of his life. He thinks he might get to, especially when John whispers in his ear, "I'll love you until the day I die," and Sherlock can only answer, "Yes."


End file.
